Authors: Cassandra Webb
Rush is the magical ability to move with intense speed. Rowena has this ability even after being banished from her coven and from the entire magical world. It also happens to be the nickname of a mysterious guy she meets in the club. A guy who ultimately kidnaps her, introduces her to his world of bloodlust, saves her life and leads her to the doorstep of Forks. A must read for anyone with Twilight still in their hearts and minds and yet an urban fantasy standing firmly on it’s own two legs that those who are not fans of Twilight will still get a big kick out of this read.
Rated 14+ with adult themes but lacking erotica, this is you next weekend heart throb. Grab a warm blanket and settle in to devour this lusty adventure.
Dedicated to the books that inspire us, and the authors who bring them to life.
Copyright © 2015 Cassandra Webb.
All Rights Reserved.
The right of Cassandra Webb to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the copyright amendment (moral rights) act 2009.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this publication may be reproduced, recorded or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photographic, recording, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
Cover Art by Zedaoudi
His hands are on me, moving over my leg in smooth strokes. I want to purr – but purring is for kittens, and instead I find myself holding my breath to keep from making any sound. One finger at a time he traces lines along the edge of my short shorts; over the thin seams, he makes his way to my waist and along my stomach. His lips gently meet mine – too gentle. I arch my back and hope he gets the picture – just take me. Now! Before I rip you apart!
“Time to get off,” he says.
I open my eyes, but he’s gone. It’s all gone, vanished.
“Damn” I spit the word out, followed by “shit, Rowena.” I’m on a bus – please don’t tell me I was moaning out loud! And did I just curse at myself – I’m still half asleep.
My cheeks flush bright red and I jump to my feet.
“Hurry up” the bus driver grumbles, his voice exactly like the guy in my dreams, and my checks go redder.
Yep! Seattle sucks! The midnight express bus pulls out behind me and I hoist my backpack over one shoulder considering the two options that I’m left with – none of them are as good as my dream. Choice number one, the road to my left, or number two the road to my right. Or I could just plonk my exhausted teenage ass down in the bus shelter and have a nap next to the bum snuggled under his heavy brown coat.
I shiver, yeah no, not going to happen, and I start walking to the left.
Finding that twenty on the ground in Sacramento was a stroke of luck, and I thank whichever goddess was responsible for it as I stretch my stilly sleepy arms and legs. Walking this far, or
as my little skill in magic happens to be, would have left me ravishing. And without a cent to my name the next step would be stealing some food, followed by being chased by the police; my life gets not pretty real fast when I’m hungry. As it is I’m half a day’s bus travel from my last lot of troubles – a month’s unpaid motel bill, and the hospital bill from breaking two fingers that needed surgically re-breaking and re-setting. All this from punching one of the raiding police officers on the night Bare Fists Street Fighting Rink; which was now officially closed for business – but at this moment I can probably last another day or so without food. Providing I don’t
. I probably should count the warrant out for my arrest as a problem too, but somehow officers never seem to communicate well over state lines. A day’s bus travel should have me in the clear.
The town is practically dead, well it is the middle of the night, but halfway down the street and down a little hill a doorman stands guard over the heavy metal entrance to a night club.
The sight of that one guy, dressed all in black with an earpiece sitting casually out of his ear, makes me smile. I could do with some fun, and walking aimlessly down the street without any clue where I am going doesn’t really compare to some dancing and conning strangers for a drink. I slick the band out of my hair and tug the front of my shirt just a little lower. With my cleavage popping and my hair flowing I walk up to the door. He offers a knowing grunt and lets me in. I sling my bag onto the counter and take the ticket offered for lockering it, but I don’t bother looking at the guy. My gaze avoids the others that fill the hallways too; dancers, kissers, guys in tight jeans, girls in short skirts; I reserve my attention for someone worth my while.
In a world so crammed full of beating hearts and mumbling mouths very few human offerings interest me and a banished witch like me is not left with any choice but human company. The tattoo on the back of my hand brands me as invisible to my kind – and my kind are invisible to me.
I tug my sleeve down lower and loop my thumb through the hole; hiding most of the blind-eye mark.
The music offers a frantic dance beat which my body begins to respond to. Passing a tall guy with spiked red hair, I swipe his drink from his hand and disappear into the dense crowd before he can object. Beer... yuck! But it’ll slow my racing mind. Any drink will slow me down; hopefully enough to lower myself to these humans level and allow myself to be ‘picked up’. My stomach turns at the idea but the thrumming in my chest left by that crazy dream – well it’s exciting.
I have to admit its conflicting living solely with humans. A part of me is detested by them, like they smell, and a part of me loves their world. Music and lights, dancing and, well the food could be better. They just don’t understand eating for sustenance like we do. And some of the guys are ok, but really what other option do I have?
Long muscled legs attached to a perfectly chiselled body, leans against the industrial style railing that separates the dancers on the dance floor from the people bopping and swaying next to the bar. I look across at his dull red eyes. They’re alluring, like they hide secrets and mysterious. I guess they’re some kind of contact lens I guess. I can’t afford food and this guy’s got enough money to buy cosmetic dress up crap. Perhaps he’s vein enough to let me slip some of his cash out of his wallet.
I smile and keep dancing.
His fingers wrap around the top of my glass and yank it from my hand.
“Here,” he says, “Something more to your taste?” And he holds out a glass.
I sip his offering. Jim Beam and coke is much better than beer.
“How did you know?” I ask, or rather shout. It’s so loud in here and we’re separated by a railing so getting closer isn’t an option – yet.
“The look on your face” He smiles.
In one smooth step he slips between the railing and joins me on the dance floor. Leaning in a little closer to me he matches my rhythm and begins to dance.
The air changes, subtly, like someone has turned off the heat in here. It’s refreshing, but there’s something else too; a scent that I can’t quite put my finger on. Not an aftershave or some spray, but something about him. I take a deep breath and the nerves about my arms and back literally feel ready to explode. If it didn’t sound crazy I’d say I’m smelling danger.
But that does sound crazy. Yeah he’s a good looking guy, all depth and tall-handsomeness, but he is only human – right? He can’t be a witch, because the magic on my hand prevents me from seeing my own kind, and there is no option three; Human, invisible, or this guy.
A sharp shove to my back has me sprawling forwards. I turn in the same micro-second as I’m hit and face my attacker. Some girl, her hair spiked and in the background a guy with spiked hair is laughing. That beer really wasn’t worth it.
“You try to steal my man?” The girl spits, flashing a tongue so full of metal it makes her talk with her own unique accent.
“Me?” I say, and then I curse myself.
I want to avoid a fight, I tell myself I really do. For one thing there’ll be more than just her to fight if I throw a punch, and for another I’m flat broke. I don’t have the money for food and if I get into a fight the way my magic burns through my system, I’ll need to eat something big. Like half the menu of any diner. So I really don’t want to fight.
But my fist balls closed anyway.
In the background the guy raises his fresh beer and sneers at me.
“That wasn’t actually your drink, was it?” My dance partner asks.
“No,” I say while shrugging.
“So, what do you want to do? We could take them together?” He says, his tone even and deep, almost sincere.
His offer makes me laugh. Together, I was hoping he’d let me make off with his cash, but here he is offering to get his pretty delicate face punched just for me – or for some sex more like it.
“No?” he asks.
He’s facing me; he has been this whole time, studying my expression, my stance. I have my gaze on the girl who’s going to try and harm me, but I can still feel the way my dance partner is looking me over.
And as is typical the rest of the club keeps dancing around us, as if a fight isn’t just about to break out.
“No,” I agree. No, I don’t want to get into a fight.
My dance partner turns, looking for the first time at the girl and her boyfriend in the background. “You don’t want to fight us,” he says, and his tone sends shivers down my spine.
The girls face drops, like sand melting under a wave. Her aggression is gone and replaced with fear, a lot of it.
She kind of nods, then scampers away, her boyfriend is already nowhere to be seen. The space where she was standing is filled with ignorant teens and young adults of all shapes and sizes.
“Nice work,” I find myself saying, but I’m wondering if I shouldn’t also scamper. “You can predict drinks and scare off idiots.”
He turns to me, leans in and his lips brush close to my ear. “Want to get out of here?” he whispers, with a tone like a butterfly fluttering against ice crystals.
“And you can read my mind too?” I say.
His crimson eyes offer a spark of excitement then he’s gone; melded into the crowd. I catch a glimpse of his black coat on the landing and
to catch up with him; slipping the last of my drink into the spiky red heads hand as I happen past him.
“Crazy dude,” the guy’s muttering, talking about us I wonder? But he doesn’t see us, doesn’t even catch a glimpse of the blur that we are.
I know why I can move like this, rush, because I am part witch. But the other guy, goddess I need to find out his name. Calling him the other guy makes me feel like I have a school girl crush on the first person I laid eyes on. I don’t… but I
to catch up to this guy. I need to get close to him again.
My mysterious dance partner stops and leans back against the wall; as if he’s in for a wait.
“What? Worn out already,” I jest, walking past him and lavishing the crease of surprise between his eyes.
“Wait,” he says, gripping my wrist.
Goosebumps run up my arm and I wish I hadn’t pulled my sleeve right down now. How cold would his touch be on my skin? His fingers feel like a slab of granite was placed into the deep freeze. Who is this guy?
“This way,” he says.
Together we move towards a side exit. I consider the ticket in my pocket and my bag in the locker, but my bag’s probably safer here than wherever this guy’s taking me and I can return tomorrow night for it.
I smile because I already know how this is going to play out. He’s going to take me back to some basic bachelor pad, I’m going to get his clothes off – yum – and if I’m lucky we’ll both watch the sunrise through his window panting and covered in sweat. That’s when I’ll steal a shower, because I don’t have any home to go to and I am not sneaking out of his place feeling like stale sex, and then I’ll leave… wait no I’ll raid his fridge first. I am definitely going to need to eat after keeping up with this guy.
We’ll say something about things being hush, no relationship wanted, and going our separate ways never to see each other again. And then tomorrow night I’ll come back for my bag and happen to bump into him again.
It’s perfect… and perfectly crazy. Why the hell am I fantasying about hooking up with this guy twice. I don’t do twice. Twice is like developing a relationship and I can not have a relationship. I’m wanted in twelve states, I’m outlawed by my own people and I have no money, no skills, no way to get a job. I’m just counting down the months before I have to skip country – there’ll just be nowhere in the US left for me to hide. I am not the kind of person that any guy wants to get to know.
But I can have tonight.
He shoves the door open and moves towards the nearest motorcycle. I hesitate, holding the door with one hand and holding myself up against the frame. I’ve only had half a beer and half a spirits. I can’t possibly be this drunk.
Then again, being drunk is a good excuse for thinking crazy fantasies about some superhuman guy I just met. Ok, so I might be drunk – as impossible as that is.
“Coming?” he asks, holding the only helmet out to me.
“I need your name first.”
“Hallam, but everyone calls me Rush.”
I laugh, lunging for the offered helmet. “Really?”
I find myself sitting in front of him as his bike eats up the desolate city streets, passing street light after street light in a whoosh. I relax forwards.
“Gees, you went down quickly,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around my chest and pulling me back into his cold embrace.
I try to sit up, to respond... try... but I can’t.
“Down?” I mutter.
“Yeah, like a rock. Usually I get halfway out of town before girls try to argue about where we’re going and then they go all dopey.”
“That’s right dopey. Just relax, I’ve got you.”